Here's To the Night
by Lirillith
Summary: Wolfwood/Millie fluff, Millie POV. Rating for alcohol consumption. No connection to the song from which I stole the title.


Author's note: Set just after the girls catch up with Vash again (ep. 19, I think.) I'm sure they're all horribly out of character, so, um, don't hurt me too much in the reviews. I usually stick to angst, so the writing of chipperness is foreign to me. It just happened. As did the title – I don't even like that song. Also, don't sue me. 

Here's To the Night

  


"I'd like a Piña Colada, please," I told the waitress, trying to sound confident and mature, and most of all, firm. Decisive. Trying not to sound like someone who gets overruled all the time by her tiny partner. 

"No, you wouldn't. She doesn't," Meryl corrected hastily. "She was just joking." 

So much for all that. "Meryl...." I complained, pooching my lip out and pouting like a little kid. 

"Why don't you have a ginger ale?" Mr. Wolfwood suggested, and when I turned the pout toward him, he winked at me. I brightened. 

"Yes, that sounds good." 

"Okay," the waitress said doubtfully, and turned to go. My youngest big sister once told me alcoholic drinks cost more and run up the tips. I felt a bit bad, giving her false hope like that. 

"One hundred percent non-alcoholic!" Mr. Wolfwood told Meryl with a grin. I couldn't help smiling at his tone. 

"I know, I know..." 

"When I was really little, I always thought it was real ale and I'd think myself drunk on it," I said happily. It's true, too. I'd run around giggling more than usual. My big brothers still tease me about it. Eventually I stopped liking it, because Mom always gave it to me when I was sick (it was supposed to settle my stomach,) but I had a lot of fun with it there for a while. 

She smiled at that, but she wasn't going to give up on the mini-lecture. "Millie, you know we aren't supposed to drink on the job." 

"I know," I replied, giving her that big smile that sometimes makes her get really mad. "But we should celebrate!" 

"Your problem is you never know when to stop." 

Actually, my problem at the moment was that I'd ordered ginger ale just because Mr. Wolfwood winked at me, but I didn't say that. I just said "But you could stop me!" 

"Yeah, _that_ always works so well." 

"You just don't try hard enough, Meryl." 

"Um, _didn't_ she just stop you?" Mr. Wolfwood asked me, but Meryl answered. 

"I have to head her off at the pass if I'm going to succeed, though. Once she gets started, it's like stopping a sandsteamer." 

"Well that's a bit rude," I huffed. 

"What...?" 

"I am nothing like a sandsteamer!" 

"Damn straight," Mr. Wolfwood said. 

"I... oh, I just give up. Excuse me for a second." 

While Meryl was in the bathroom, the waitress brought all of our drinks. Mr. Vash tried to flirt with her even though his face was all swelled up, which just made her kind of roll her eyes, and then when she walked off Mr. Wolfwood tipped a shot of whiskey into my glass. Mr. Vash snickered, and I smiled delightedly at both of them and took a long drink of my ginger ale. It tasted a lot better this way. I said so, and Mr. Vash smiled at me – at least I think he did, it's a bit hard to tell with the swelling. 

"Bet it wouldn't taste as good if you weren't sneaking it." 

"Oh, don't be silly. Alcohol always tastes good." Which isn't completely true, but close enough, and it made them both laugh. And then Mr. Vash winced, and Mr. Wolfwood started making funny faces at him to try to make him laugh more. Mr. Vash eventually closed his eyes and started humming loudly by way of ignoring him, which was what he was doing when Meryl came back. 

"What _have_ you three been up to?" she asked wearily as she sat back down. 

"Nothing, nothing at all..." Mr. Wolfwood said, delberately casual. 

"He's been makin' faces at me, mom!" Mr. Vash whined, and I burst out laughing. 

"Mr. Wolfwood, stop making faces at Vash," she said, dutifully, but she was smiling as she stirred her milkshake. "Honestly, you two..." 

"Ah, all in good fun." Mr. Wolfwood had ordered more whiskey, which he actually drank this time. I was nearly done with my ginger ale and was feeling nicely fuzzy. There are benefits to not eating all day and running around in the heat. The waitress came back to take our food orders, and somehow we all ended up splitting one huge plate of spaghetti – it wasn't that the spaghetti was bad, it's just that the guys couldn't seem to keep from being competitive about it, and we practically had to fight them for it. I think someone stabbed Mr. Vash in the hand with a fork. At some point the waitress refilled my drink, and Mr. Wolfwood added more to it while Meryl was looking away. He kept grinning at me, and each time he did I giggled. Meryl was actually smiling too. I would have thought she'd get suspicious, but I guess not. 

Since we'd finished the spaghetti in what seemed like a single huge forkful for each of us, and none of us could afford dessert, we had nothing to do but finish our drinks and get out of the restaurant. Which we did. I could keep a straight line without much trouble, but I kept deliberately bumping into Mr. Wolfwood because he smiled whenever I did. 

"Woo, I'm exhausted! Guess I better turn in," Mr. Vash said, a bit too loudly – when he talks that way he's usually planning something. 

Meryl obviously thought so. "Guess I will too. Our room is just across the hall from yours, Vash!" she enthused, and he just smiled back at her. I didn't see his face fall at all, but like I said, it's harder to tell with his face swollen up like that. I looked over at Mr. Wolfwood, and he jerked his head back the way we'd come. I wasn't totally sure what he meant, but I guessed it was something like "let's not go to the hotel," or maybe "let's go find a bar," and since I'm always looking for a way to get Mr. Vash and Meryl alone together, I nodded agreement. "You should put some more ice on that," she added, in a normal conversational tone. She was being nice to him. I beamed. 

"I _know_," he grumbled. "I'm like a giant chipmunk." 

"A what?" 

"Um, something with big cheeks, I guess. I think it was an earth animal. I read about it in a book. Chipmunk cheeks." 

"If you say so..." 

"Besides, it's fun to say! Chipmunk. Ow." 

Mr. Wolfwood and I were falling behind them gradually. "Hey, Vash!" Mr. Wolfwood called. 

"Yeah?" 

"You two go on ahead. We're going for a walk while the weather holds." 

"You sure?" 

"Don't stay out too late!" Meryl added. 

"We won't!" I assured her. 

* * *

The desert is nice once the sun sets. It gets cold in a hurry, but the sand keeps some warmth after baking all day. I flopped down happily on one side of a dune, sheltered from the wind. He put the cross down and lowered himself to the sand on my right. 

"Look up there," he said, pointing toward the sky. "It's Odin." 

"Who?" 

"The other planet in this system. Named for an old myth from earth." 

"Oh. Where is it?" 

"That really bright star... there, see?" 

"Yeah. That's a planet?" 

"Yeah. Star light, star bright... you should make a wish." 

I smiled. Somehow I hadn't thought he'd know that rhyme. "Does it count if you wish on a planet?" 

"Who knows? I don't usually get mine no matter what I wish on." 

"I don't really have anything to wish for right now." 

"Nothing?" 

I thought about it. Our knees were almost touching. I just felt so happy, above and beyond the effects of the whiskey. I'd been happy since I first spotted him earlier that evening. "Not really. We've found Mr. Vash, so we can do our jobs. He didn't even try to run away from us yet! Everything seems to be fine at the moment, this town seems pretty peaceful. Maybe I could wish to just once take a ride on a sandsteamer without it being hijacked." 

"Doesn't count if you tell anyone what you're wishing for. And what's all this about hijackings?" 

I laughed. "Every time I get on a sandsteamer with Meryl, it gets held up by bandits. I mean, it's only been twice, but that's still every time!" 

"Okay, you've got a point there." He sounded amused. "When was the first time?" 

"Oh, it was before we met you. The Bad Lad gang —" 

He gave a bark of laughter. "He was tellin' the truth then! Amazing! The day I met him, he told me he'd been shot by Brilliant Dynamites Neon. I didn't believe it." 

"Well, I'm not sure it was actually Mr. Neon that shot him, but they did get in a gunfight." 

"I'll be damned," he said thoughtfully. We were silent for a little bit, and he put his arm around my shoulder. "Look there," he said, pointing with his other hand. "The Cross." 

"The constellation?" 

"Yeah, see?" He traced it in the air for me, like blessing the sky. That wasn't helping much, but I was able to spot it on my own. 

"Like connecting the dots," I said, and yawned against his side. "I can see it once it's pointed out, but how do people come up with these in the first place?" 

"I dunno. Boredom, I guess. It's not hard to decide something's shaped like a cross." 

"Yeah, but... why not connect that star at the top to the one just thataway from it? Then you'd have a completely different shape." I'd been trying to point the one I meant, but it wouldn't have worked too well unless he put his face right at my wrist, which he wasn't doing. 

"Well, yeah. But it wouldn't be a cross shape." He sounded as clueless as Mr. Vash, so I knew he was teasing me on purpose. 

"That's what I mean!" 

"It'd be... hm... if you add in that star there... a triangle with a cross sticking out of the bottom. Not a real shape at all." 

"Or a person." 

"A pointy-headed person with one leg." 

"Mr. Priest —" 

"Okay, okay. So I like having a cross in the sky. Where's the harm in that?" 

I just laughed. "But you know what I mean. Why a cross? Why not tilt your head a bit and say it's a person doing jumping jacks?" 

"A person with no neck. Or – my God! – no head at all!" 

I tried not to laugh, but it wasn't working very well. "Oh, hush! Or those three stars up there that sort of make a curve, you might as well just say that's a thomas." 

"Oh, you recognized the Grazing Thomas!" I gave him a look, and he grinned. "Just made that one up." 

"I _thought_ so," I grumbled, trying not to laugh, trying and failing to jab him with an elbow. "You're being deliberately difficult!" 

"Yeah, but you love me for it." 

I made a hmmphing noise, because I wasn't about to confirm or deny that. I had been awfully happy to see him, but calling that love seemed like jumping to conclusions, and denying it... well, I couldn't think what it seemed like, but I didn't want to. I tried to look as cranky as I could, because it seemed like the thing to do at the time, but Meryl's much better at that than I am. "Aw, c'mon," he said, and I felt him touching my face, trying to turn it towards him. I gave in and turned to look at him, and he kissed me. 

"Guess we should be getting back," he said, when he pulled back, but he hadn't pulled back very far and he didn't seem very determined, so I just kissed him again. This time it lasted longer, and tongues got involved. Probably not very well, since that seems like the part of my body that gets clumsy first when I drink, but he didn't complain. The kissing lasted quite a while, actually. 

When I noticed where his hands were going under my coat, I pulled back from him – I really didn't mind, but it surprised me a little. I think he took it wrong. "We really should get back," he said again, quietly. 

"I guess so," I replied. I think he could hear that I wasn't exactly eager to do that, because he gave me a bit of a smile and kissed me on the cheek before he stood up. He helped me up, but he didn't let go of my hand once I was on my feet, and I didn't let go of his. It was getting windier as we headed back into town, so it was just as well we'd started back, I guess. 

"You ever make your wish?" he asked me, about halfway back to the hotel. We were still holding hands. 

I just smiled and shook my head. I really couldn't think of a single thing to wish for that night. 

* * *

I realized, after writing this, that not one of them is drinking anything that's tolerable with the meal they order, not to mention that I'm taking a fairly free hand with probability and with what is or isn't served in restaurants. Um... the waitress brings them ice water with their entree and Millie just didn't mention it. Yeah. Ahem. 


End file.
